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by littledragon94



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 06:23:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4468622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledragon94/pseuds/littledragon94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Neville Longbottom had always thought he knew where his home was." For the "One Hour, Two Drabbles" challenge 2013, along with "Yarn".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

Neville Longbottom had always thought he knew where his home was.

First, it was his grandmother’s house. The sturdy root of his family, where Great-Uncle Algie and Great-Aunt Enid gathered to celebrate Neville’s first use of magic after he’d bounced down the garden path. But then as he got older, Neville found that home wasn’t just where he lived, it was where he was comfortable, and that was with his parents.

When he’d tried to explain that to his grandmother, she’d dismissed it with a wave of her bright red handbag and stern instructions to remember that his parents couldn’t even remember who he was. But Neville didn’t listen to her. He knew that the hundreds of gum wrappers in the box beneath his bed were his mother’s way of telling him that she knew who he was.

Then he had turned 11, and with his Hogwarts letter and escaping toad came another place to call home. The towering turrets and winding staircases were as familiar to him as the people in his dormitory or the teachers in his classes. Yet it wasn’t until his fifth year that he started to feel he belonged.

The creation of Dumbledore’s Army brought out a whole new side of Neville. He felt that, at last, he had a purpose, a reason to succeed in classes, to learn all those complicated spells that vanished from his head as soon as he stopped thinking about them. He knew that there was a fight coming, and that he would be in it.

So, when his father’s wand had snapped in the Department of Mysteries, Neville thought it was over. But quite the opposite happened – it was as though all 13 inches of Cherry and unicorn hair knew exactly what he wanted. Suddenly Neville found that he was a competent wizard, that he could easily jinx and transfigure things that before had been impossible. And with that came a realisation: he wasn’t his father.

As the Wizarding World became fearful at the return of Lord Voldemort, Neville became more confident.

It was as though he was born to fight that fight. The Death Eaters had tortured his parents to insanity, forced his grandmother into hiding, and caused no end of fear and misery to witches, wizards, and Muggles alike.

All those things flashed through Neville’s mind as he swung the sword of Gryffindor, Harry’s last message echoing around him.

It all came down to one thought.

Neville Longbottom, the forgetful, clumsy, round-faced boy who couldn’t stay on a broom wasn’t fighting for his friends or family. He wasn’t even fighting for himself.

He was fighting for a place of peace.

He was fighting for a home.

 


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